Pot of Ashes
by mo.texas55
Summary: Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo live on the cusp of life every time they venture to the surface. Yet the possibility of a family touched by death comes as a heavy blow when the force they once denied becomes very real. Set in the 2003 universe.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I am extremely brand new at this whole fanfiction thing. So I'll ask for some R&R and just cross my fingers and hope I don't get utterly rejected. Anyhow, this is my very first TMNT fanfic (well, first in _any_ category). So I hope you enjoy, and I do actually want to know what you think; I'm good with constructive criticism...or at least, I like to think that I am.**

* * *

His chest ached. He could feel his lungs dragging in oxygen from every direction they could. The gash he had received on his left shoulder from Hun was bleeding profusely, but he had no time to worry about it. He was running faster than he could ever remember running, keeping his eyes on his brothers' backs as they all ran slightly ahead of him. Leo kept glancing back over his shoulder; either to make sure Donatello was still in tote or to check that the army of Foot soldiers sprinting after them hadn't obtained any more members.

Donnie could feel his throat tightening with the shortage of air. He cursed his lacking body in the back of his mind. His brothers were so much stronger than him, so much more agile; they could endure so much more, especially Raph and Leo. But this wasn't a battle between brothers to assess which turtle could run the fastest and outlast the others, this was a sprint-or-die circumstance in which, if Donnie did not sprint, he would die—or at least be overtaken by black-clad ninjas. It was sheer will and adrenaline that kept him moving; he had no other choice.

The four brothers leapt from rooftop to rooftop in the general direction of home but the purple-banded turtle had no idea how his eldest brother was planning to elude the swarm of ninjas in their wake so as not to lead any of them to their hideout. They were only blocks away from their favorite manhole cover-the one that dropped them only one tunnel over from the lair. But they couldn't stop there. They had to keep moving, keep running, lest they find themselves throwing a party for the Shredder in their own home. Donnie's cerebral mind skimmed through a million ideas a minute, but he could not focus on a single one of them, nor did he have time to go through the process of elimination, weeding out all of the flaws in each escape plan to figure the perfect one. As it was, Leo was the leader, not him—which, especially in moments such as these, was probably a good thing. He fully trusted his brother to lead them out of this. Leo had a knack for that.

The young turtle could sense the Foot closing in on his back. He caught a glimpse of something black out of the corner of his eye and snapped his head to the right. Michelangelo was feet away from making a jump across the next alleyway and there was a very determined Foot soldier right on his tail. Heart skipping, Donatello did not hesitate. He pushed his legs harder, speeding toward the immediate threat and reached behind him for his bo staff. Mikey jumped and the Foot ninja sprung forward. Donnie launched himself off the building and plowed midair into the soldier who was a flick of the wrist away from hurling a shuriken into the back of Mikey's head. Donnie's split second of relief immediately evaporated as he and the Foot soldier plummeted toward the cement ten stories below. Reacting on instinct, he jabbed his staff at the building closest to him and it magically got caught between the railings of the stairwell. The force of the abrupt halt jarred the Foot soldier that had been clinging to Donnie's shell and he fell into the shadows, leaving a sick and echoing crunch in the musty New York atmosphere as he came in contact with the cement. Donatello could feel his heart thumping hard on his ribs; the little muscle was always on red alert, always preparing, however reluctantly, to beat its last.

"Donnie!"

He shot his gaze up to the edge of the roof where Leo was standing, katana unsheathed, his expression shadowed but quite obviously concerned. Donatello could hear the familiar sounds of a fight ensuing. Raph and Mikey were holding off the Foot as Leo leapt down to the top stairwell and then paused to fight off the three or four ninjas that followed. They were about three floors above Donatello. He knew he couldn't just hang there while his older brother fought off the enemy to save him. He attempted to pull himself up but his arms were shaking, and the pain in his left shoulder was so intense that he was beginning to feel lightheaded.

"Hang on Donnie," Leo grunted, his shell up against the rail, blades crossed in front of him to hold off the last soldier's attack.

"I'm alright Leo," Donnie said up to his brother. "I'm coming." He started to swing his legs. He was going to jump to the rail below him and then make his way back up to the roof to aid his brothers. He would not play damsel in distress, not today. He would not be the weakest turtle, the weakest warrior.

A blur of black whizzed by as the Foot that Leo had just been cornered by was thrown down ten stories.

"I got you Don," Leo said, flying down the stairs.

Though he was mildly disappointed that Leo would be his rescuer once again, he was also very relieved that Leo would be his rescuer. It was better than being saved by Raph at least. Donnie just had time to reach out for his brother's hand when he heard the whistle of a flying shuriken. A flash of silver, and the blade sliced through the end of his bo staff, splintering off the part Donnie was clinging to. His heart beat exactly twice as he looked to Leo with wide eyes and felt gravity yank him down. He flailed his arms desperately, reaching out for the stairwell, but the moment his fingertips scraped steel, his left arm refused to work and he slipped backward, falling off course. The last thing he heard was his brother screaming his name.

* * *

"Donnie!"

Leo watched in shock as his younger brother reached out for the railing but could not hold it. He tumbled through the air head first, scraping by the stairwell. Shadows consumed him and Leo cringed when he heard the ringing clang of his brother's shell hitting the edge of a dumpster and then dropping to the cement. Panic seized Leonardo like the cold skin of a dead fist clamping down on his stomach. He finally found his mobility and jumped the remaining seven stories, kicking off the opposite wall once before landing solidly on his feet. He rushed over to Donnie, ignoring the stillness of three unmoving bodies lying on the cold cement of the alleyway, one of those being his younger brother.

Leonardo latched onto Donnie's shell and turned him over. Donnie's head lolled back, unsupported, his eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape, a trail of blood leaking from his nose. Leo felt sick. He could feel his focus pulling away from him, stretching out down a long blurry tunnel of fear; it took all he had to reel it back in. He looped his arm around Donnie's neck, supporting his head and pulled him closer.

"Donnie," he said. He could hear his voice trembling, echoing off the walls of the alley. He shook his brother gently, urging him to wake. "Donatello…Donnie." He shook him with more urgency. "Donatello!" he shouted, his heart in his throat. "Donnie answer me!"

He tried to remain calm, but the blood glistening on his brother's face was a hard factor to ignore. He had witnessed every one of his brothers take a bad hit during a fight that knocked them out cold. Even _he_ had conked out during a number of battles. He refused to believe the worst. Donatello would be okay. They just had to get him home.

"Raph! Mikey!" he shouted, shifting around to pull his brother onto his shell. He gripped Don's wrists tightly and stood. The tails of the purple mask brushed the side of Leo's face as Donnie's forehead fell against Leo's shoulder. He could feel a drop of Donnie's blood crawling down his cheek. He gritted his teeth and did not turn his head. They would inspect Donnie's injuries later. The primary goal was now just to get him to safety. "We have to go now!"

There was maybe a five second delay, but for Leo it was much too long before he could make out the bulky silhouettes of Raphael and Michelangelo leaping silently down from the roof. Leo started running the moment their feet touched the ground; they followed and caught up quickly.

"Oh my god, Donnie," Raph exclaimed as he came up on Leo's right. There were grim bruises already welting up on his dark green skin and he had procured a nasty-looking cut across his brow, but otherwise he seemed okay.

Mikey, who came up on Leo's left, didn't look any worse, except that his skin had gone unnaturally pale as he stared wide-eyed at the turtle on Leonardo's back. "Leo…Donnie."

"I know," Leo grunted, trying to run as quickly as possible. Donnie's weight felt frighteningly lifeless. But Leonardo pushed it out of his mind and forced his legs to be stronger. He had to be strong. He had to lead. He had to save his brother. "Let's just get back to the lair."

Raph glanced over his shoulder. "But we've still got about ten o' those guys on our shells."

Leo ignored the sweat dripping into his already narrowed eyes. His biceps were screaming with strain. "We'll lose them in the sewers," he said through his teeth. "Give them less room to maneuver. You and Mikey can take them out…What did you do with Hun?"

"Beat the shell out of him, that's what. He's catching z's with his ninja buddies on the roof."

"Good."

"Leo," Mikey spoke, eyes still on Donatello.

"I know Mikey," Leo snapped. "Just keep moving."

The three conscious turtles were blurs of green with orange, blue, and red stripes, sprinting through the shadows under the exclusive fortresses of New York City, a small stream of soldiers in their wake. But the warriors would not stand to be harassed, especially not with the urgency of an injured brother on their minds. The moment Leo felt they were far enough from the lair, he ordered Mikey to pick up the pace and clear an entrance to the sewers while Raph fell back to hold off the onslaught of ninjas. Michelangelo skidded up to the nearest manhole cover and threw it to the side then wasted no time in doubling back to help Raph create a distance between Leo and the Foot. Leonardo was mere feet away from being underground when he realized he would not be able to climb down the ladder while his brother was unconscious and unable to hold himself up, much less would he be able to even fit through the hole with Donnie on his back.

"Raph!"

Raphael looked back, finished punching the lights out of the ninja he had by the collar and then ran full speed toward the manhole and jumped in. The moment he landed below, Leonardo eased Donnie off of his shell, held him with shaking arms over the hole, then closed his eyes and let go. Raph grunted and Leo opened his eyes to see that Raphael had successfully caught their unconscious brother and was taking off down the tunnel.

"Mikey, let's move!" Leo shouted. He threw two shuriken to the left and right, taking out the Foot soldier on Mikey's left and distracting the one on his right. Mikey high kicked the one in front of him then turned and ran to the manhole, jumping in without hesitation. Leo followed.

Once underground, he and Mikey led the remaining three Foot ninjas away from Raph's trail. They ran through the mucky sewage, turning one way and then another until they reached a dead end. Silently, and yet with full understanding of each other's intentions, they simultaneously split up and ran wide back up either side of the tunnel, each kicking off of the walls to land behind the Foots' backs. Mikey's nunchucks were a blur of orange and Leo's blades were hardly visible. They took their enemy out quickly, but it wasn't until the last Foot fell face first into the bacteria-infested water that Leo could finally breathe.

The exhaustion of the night immediately crashed down upon him and he sank a little at the weight of it, but he knew the night was not over yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Splinter sat completely still, his eyes closed, listening to the silence surrounding him. He breathed in deeply and with his exhale, let all of his worries flow over him like a river over solid stone. He concentrated on his spiritual connection to each of his sons, hoping that they all remembered to fight not just with their weapons and appendages but with their minds and spirits as well, as he had always taught them. He knew this was always a particular challenge for Raphael and Michelangelo, as Raphael was much too impulsive and Michelangelo usually put no thought into fighting at all—well, he didn't put much thought into anything really. Fighting with the mind would be the simplest for Donatello, though sometimes Splinter worried that this left his intellectual son too physically vulnerable, but just as he knew Donatello's and Leonardo's thinking would balance out Raphael's and Michelangelo's irrational tendencies, he trusted too that the physical strength of Donatello's brothers would keep him from harm. And with Leonardo having so often proven himself worthy as an exceptional leader, Splinter faithfully counted on all four of his sons to return home safe and soon.

This was a routine he followed nearly every night, every moment that his sons were out on the surface world without him. As much as he longed to fight their battles for them, he knew this was something he could not do. His boys, though young and anthropomorphically strange, were becoming men—_warriors_. His job as their sensei was to teach them in the ways of the ninja and then step back to let them put into practice the knowledge and skill that he had passed onto them. He would always be there if and when they needed him, but he could not follow the same path that they were on now.

A chill ran down Splinter's spine, following through to the tip of his tail, as he thought of the future, of a time when he knew the paths that he and his sons now walked down would diverge. He feared that day, the day that they could no longer be together, the day that would separate him from his children, whether by death or ambition. He desperately hoped the later, but if the divergence was delivered by death he would much prefer that it come to him first. He could not live without his sons. And this was the fear that plagued him every time they left the lair.

Splinter exhaled again and opened his eyes. His room was bathed in candlelight and yet still too dark, too silent. Though he sometimes relished in the quiet that followed in his sons' absences, the peacefulness of being alone often wore off very quickly. He was very much used to the unnecessary noise that filled his everyday life, living in a home with four teenage boys—or, what was more, four teenage _ninjas_. He could only meditate for so long before he became restless at their absence. This night was no different.

He had had a very discomforting feeling upon watching his sons retreat from the lair for their nightly patrol this evening. Though they left with smiles on their faces and laughter in their lungs, strong, healthy and very well-trained, he could not help feeling that something about this night was wrong. He had been tempted to call them to return and wait to leave the lair another time, but he knew they would not have responded well. He could imagine Raphael gruffly arguing that his father was simply being overprotective, while Leonardo would have respectfully reminded him that they were no longer children. But it didn't really matter what Splinter would have said. His boys were stubborn. They would have made it out of the lair with or without his approval.

Splinter closed his eyes again and tried once more to become one in body, mind, and spirit. After a few deep breaths he could feel all aspects of himself starting to flow together, enhancing his senses, tuning him to the universe, to his sons. He could feel their life, their spirit. And for a long while, all was well, and he felt peace and no fear, no worry. He could hear the sharp silence of the sewers, but also the busy cycle of the humans' everyday lives up above. He could feel every element surrounding him: fire, air, water, earth, metal. His ear twitched as a fly landed on a framed picture of him and his sons hanging on the wall across the room, but he did not move. He realized the life of the fly, sensed its presence, but did not acknowledge it.

Just as he was entering his deepest level of meditation, of connection to all living and non-living things, he felt pain, a pain so intense that he gasped and his eyes shot open and every thread of his spiritual self retreated back into him and all he could feel was his body, no longer one with anything. He clutched at his abdomen and leaned forward, moaning into his mat. Something was very wrong. He could feel it burning through his senses, breaking his connection to the spirit of his sons. And worry flushed over him again, only this time, ten times as intense. He grabbed his cane and slowly pushed himself onto his feet. He blew out his candles and left his room, blinking as his eyes readjusted to the light in the lair. He shuffled across the floor and then stopped at the entrance of the lair, gazing anxiously out into the darkness beyond, waiting for a familiar voice or the shift of a well-known figure—or four—walking his way. He prayed that they were on their way home, that they were not too injured, that this agonizing pain he felt was simply more paternal protectiveness, simply just him worrying too much for their well-being. He told himself they would be home soon, that within the next few minutes they would come whooping and hollering down the tunnel, high-fiving each other, cockily bragging about a successful patrol.

He rested his paws on the head of his cane and closed his eyes, comforting himself with the images of his happy, healthy sons: Michelangelo rolling in on a skateboard, laughing about anything that might've gotten Raphael into trouble, Raphael retaliating by tackling his brother to the ground or throwing his sai in the way of Michelangelo's wheels, Leonardo commending his brothers on a successful night, Donatello boasting about how useful his latest invention had proved to be. They would return soon. All would be well.

It was several minutes before the silence surrounding Splinter was broken. And when it was, he could feel his heart dropping into his stomach, intensifying the pain that had not gone away.

"Master Splinter!"

Footsteps rushed toward him, coming up out of the darkness. He could make out Raphael's hulking outline running forward, carrying something in his arms…some_one_. Splinter forced himself to remain calm, though when he responded his voice said otherwise.

"Raphael! What has happened?"

His second eldest son came into the light, panting heavily, bruised and bleeding, holding a seemingly lifeless Donatello. Splinter tried not to panic upon recognizing his worse fears, upon physically seeing his nightmares splayed out before him. He noticed Raphael's limbs trembling as he carried his brother further into the lair to lay him on the couch, gasping out a frail answer to Splinter's question.

"I didn't see," he said, shaking his head. "We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Foot scoped us out and called in everyone they had. They jumped us. We managed to get away from them. We were running…All I know is one minute Donnie was behind us and the next he wasn't. Leo was with him. I didn't see what happened. There were so many Foot, and Hun…I just knew I had to keep them busy."

Splinter's eyes remained on Donatello's expressionless face, at the line of blood on his olive green skin. The stillness of Donatello's body was very wrong. The tilt of his head, the way it so heavily rested against the cushion of the couch was not right. There was blood all down his left arm and staining the back of his mask as well. Splinter's heart was beating too hard, too loudly. He could not focus.

"Get a bowl of hot water and a cloth quickly…Where are you brothers?" he asked urgently, suddenly feeling very sick.

"They led off the last of those creeps," Raphael answered over his shoulder as he jogged away to fetch what his father had ordered. "I had to get Donnie back…Sensei, is he going to be okay?"

Splinter, hardly listening, knelt by his son and placed a trembling paw on Donatello's forehead. His skin was damp and much too cool. He ran his fingers down and pressed them against Donatello's neck, too aware of the slight but awkward angle of it and the wound at the base of Donatello's skull. He waited, listened, sat as still as he ever had, reaching through all of his senses for a heartbeat.

"Sensei? Raph?" The echo of Leonardo's voice was rattling.

He and Michelangelo emerged from the shadows, both as battered and bruised as their red-clad brother, also panting and quite noticeably exhausted.

"We made it," Raphael responded as he ran over to Splinter with the water and towel he had asked for. But Splinter was no longer interested in it.

It took everything in his power to stand and turn with his back to Donatello, shielding his lifeless body from the rest of the boys.

"My sons," Splinter spoke, clearly and unemotionally. "I must ask you to go to your rooms. Take the first aid kit. Attend to each other wounds, and do not come out until I have called you."

Raphael froze with the bowl and towel in hand. Michelangelo stood with round and confused eyes. Leonardo hesitated. "But…Sensei…"

"Do as I say Leonardo—all of you. I will not ask again."

Painfully perplexed, they each bowed respectfully and—all with one last worried glance at their brother—began walking away. Raphael set the bowl and towel on the table before following the other two up the ladder leading to the second level and out of sight. Splinter did not move until he heard the secured closing of a door, and then he allowed his world to crumble.

He fell to his knees and, just as immediately as he had realized the truth, tears burst from his eyes and did not stop. He forced himself not to wail too loudly with agony, but it was difficult. The pain was too much. He could barely breathe. There was a cavernous hollow in his stomach and anguish in his chest. And it flattened whatever spirit had lingered by until his three remaining sons had closed themselves away. He could not move. He didn't know how long he kneeled, curled up on the floor with his back to the body of his precious son.

"No," he moaned into the floor. "Not my son. Not _my _son."

He was lost in pain for what seemed like hours, unable to stifle his tears, hurting from all the force it took to remain as quiet as possible, to delay the pain that would come to the brothers of his lost son.

"Please, I beg you," he cried, speaking to whatever force had united him with such a peaceful and ingenious soul all those years ago, a soul that he had smiled upon lovingly and called Donatello. "Do not take my son away from me. I beg of you."

He could not handle it. He didn't even know where to start. His body dragged itself around to face the son he so desperately wanted to cling to. His tears flowed faster. The cavern in his chest grew wider, hollower. His face twisted in agony and for a brief moment an echoing wail escaped him. He quickly covered his mouth and rested his forehead on Donatello's unmoving plastron. He squeezed his eyes shut and gulped down his sobs. His body was trembling terribly. He felt so heavy…heavy with loss, with pain, with guilt.

He lifted his head and rested a paw over Donatello's face. "I have failed you, my son...I am sorry."

It hurt even more when Donatello did not open his eyes and deny this truth for Splinter. He was a father that had failed his child, failed to protect him, failed to be there for him, failed to teach him everything he knew that might have prevented this.

He could still so clearly see the look of unsuspecting happiness that had adorned the bright brown eyes peeking out of Donatello's clean, purple mask as he accompanied his brothers out of the lair, out of Splinter's protection, mere hours ago. And now Splinter would never again look into such eyes, never again witness such a smile, never again feel whole. And it was all because he had been too cowardly, too soft to demand that his sons stay in the sewers and never leave his sight. He had simply let them go, despite what the forces of life had been telling him, warning him, and now his son was dead.


	3. Chapter 3

"Leo…Leo!"

Leonardo snapped his head up to Raphael, eyes glazed, spirit shaken, confused, and unsettled.

They were grouped up in Mikey's room. Raph was sitting next to their youngest brother, bandaging his wrist as Mikey stared off into space, unfocused and out of touch. He hadn't said a word since they'd made it down to the sewers. This was a very disturbing occurrence, but Leonardo could not concentrate on it. He couldn't concentrate on anything. He was sitting on the floor with his shell up against the door, waiting, listening. But he couldn't really concentrate on that either. All he could see was Donnie falling, disappearing into the shadows, crashing headfirst onto the very edge of a steely, cold, New York City dumpster—over and over again. His stomach was in knots. He hadn't wanted to consider the worst in the midst of battle. He had only been concerned about getting Donnie home. And now that he _was_ home, he just wasn't sure…The look on his father's face, the way he had so quickly dismissed them, it was immensely disturbing.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Raph asked uneasily. "I mean…What happened?"

Again, the image of Donnie falling, colliding with an object once so blameless, and yet now…What had it done?

"He fell," Leo said hoarsely, staring at the floor. "I tried to grab him. I was so close; he was right there."

He could still feel the emptiness of his hands from the very moment. He had been inches from grasping his brother's hand, from pulling him to safety. Donatello had been so close that Leonardo had watched the fear engulf his brother's brown eyes just before he became unreachable, un-savable. Leonardo's heart beat with fear. He could feel a knot rising in his throat. He didn't notice Michelangelo cringe and remain silent.

Raph's eyes switched back and forth between his brothers, but Leo didn't notice this either. He only faintly heard his normally defiant and difficult brother say in a weak attempt at comfort, "He'll be okay…Donnie's strong."

Leonardo repeated these words to himself in the back of his mind. _Donnie's strong. Donnie is strong_. But the more he repeated the phrase, the more his stomach sank. He was dipped into a flood of memories, of picking a crying Donnie up off the floor after Raphael had pushed him over, of staying up late to help Donnie perfect the katas that he had failed to accurately perform during training with Splinter, of a Donnie who had nearly been washed downstream with the sewage because he had fallen short of the jump across the water that the rest of his brothers found to be an easy feat. Donnie was determined. Donnie always tried…but strong?

Leo's stomach clenched. He couldn't believe he was doubting his brother, doubting his strength, his courage. He had seen what Donnie had done. He had been keeping an eye over one shoulder; constantly looking back to make sure his younger brother was still with them. He had caught the look on Donnie's face, noticed the Foot ninja aiming for Mikey, watched as Donatello leapt fearlessly toward the attacker and probably saved Michelangelo's life. But had it cost him? This was what Leo could not seem to bear. Donnie _was_ strong…Leo was just afraid. What if the worst turned out to be the truth?

It seemed like hours had gone by—hours of the three brothers simply sitting in silence, waiting for the same thing, worrying about the same thing, but speaking of nothing. Leo thought he heard the echo of a cry at one point, but he did not want to know what that meant, if his senses were as sharp as he'd once believed. They waited…and waited…and waited…and then finally, a soft knock came to the door. All three brothers stood and Leonardo, with shaking hands and a nauseous stomach, opened the door.

They stared down at their sensei, three pairs of eyes, gazing out of three different colored masks, all silently asking the same thing. Their father stared back, not speaking for a long and heavy moment. The more seconds that ticked away with unanswered questions, the more Leonardo's heart tensed, nearly squeezing the oxygen out of itself with anticipation. Splinter's eyes were bloodshot. Leo ignored this—at least until his sensei looked directly at him. He could swear he saw a glint of accusation in his father's eyes.

"Leonardo," he spoke, his voice weak. "What happened?"

Leo swallowed dryly. Quietly, he explained what had happened to their brother—the one whose fate he was not sure of anymore. He kept his eyes to the floor. He did not want to see truth in his sensei's eyes. When he had finished explaining every detail he could muster, all was uncomfortably silent once more. Leo finally looked up to see Splinter nodding, the glimmer of a tear hanging on his fur.

"My sons," he started gently, heavily. "When your brother fell, I believe the rigid metal of the dumpster came in contact with his cervical vertebrae, mostly likely causing severe damage to the tip of his spine." He paused, unable to look at them anymore. "He died instantly."

For a split-second no one moved. For a split-second there was no air. For a split-second there was nothing. The temperature dropped and darkness converged, but no one uttered a sound. And then their world erupted. Everything they knew, everything they lived by, everything they were and stood for, blew to pieces and the hammer of grief shattered all that remained. A blur of red and green flew out of the room. Raphael was gone. The ground slipped out from beneath Michelangelo; he toppled sideways and Leonardo just barely had the strength to catch him before falling to his knees. Mikey had passed out, but Leo hardly noticed, even though he held his little brother in his arms. He just looked up at his father with glistening eyes, head shaking, heart breaking.

"No Father," he begged, tears seeping into his mask.

Splinter hung his head the same moment that an ear-splitting scream of rage came echoing up from the floor below. The world tilted. It was hot and cold, and dark and light, and all too painful. Leo turned over, forgetting about Mikey passed out in his lap, blindly reached out and vomited into the first thing his fingers touched. It was all too much: Raph's screaming, Splinter's silent pain, Mikey's unconsciousness, and no Donatello. Leo puked and sobbed and gasped and wretched and he couldn't tell up from down anymore. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He just couldn't. And soon he too nearly lost his grip on consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**I used to be one of those people who shook my finger at all forms of cursing, so if you're one of those, I understand. But, characters tend to speak their own minds sometimes. There is a bit of "coarse language" in this and a few upcoming chapters. Umm...*shrug* Sorry, the turtles are teenagers and it's life. **

* * *

Splinter did not know who to run to, who to worry for, who to comfort. He had known they would respond along these lines, that sanity and understanding and patience would be lost, but he had not prepared himself enough for it, for the agony of witnessing their pain, and on top of his own grievances. For a moment, it was all too overwhelming. He sank to his knees and cried with them, his own weeping completely drowned by the hysteria and rage of Raphael's voice, Raphael's tears. Michelangelo was motionless, lying across Leonardo's legs as Leonardo vomited into a helmet, tears dripping down his cheeks, soaking into his mask. It was utter chaos. Splinter almost could not bear it. But he knew he had to. He had already fought through the initial grief before coming to tell his sons the news; they needed to be cared for now. They needed to be brought to rational thinking, most specifically Raphael.

Splinter forced himself to his feet and gazed upon his eldest and youngest. Leonardo had joined his brother in lying weakly on the floor. He seemed only on the boarder of consciousness. His chest heaved, his breathing thin and shallow. Tears continued to spill out of his eyes, but his irises rolled around as though dazed and confused, as though looking for something, constantly blinking and only half open. He shook his head and mumbled, but Splinter could only catch the word _failure_. With a sinking heart he realized that his eldest son was doing the exact same thing that Splinter had done, which was to immediately blame it all on himself. As much as this broke Splinter's heart, he knew he had to tend to his second eldest first. Leonardo and Michelangelo would not go anywhere.

So he turned and made his way down the ladder. The lair was in ruins. The stuffing from Raphael's favorite punching bag was strewn all over the room. The coffee table had been reduced to mere slivers of wood. Glass from the television screen glittered on the floor. And Raphael was nowhere to be found. Splinter's stomach dropped. Eyes working double time, he caught a glimpse of Donatello's body still lying on the couch. Before Splinter had gone to break the hearts of his sons, he had taken the time to carefully clean Donatello's wounds and cover his body with an old sheet. Now, Donatello's head was uncovered, turned to the side as though Raphael had had to check for himself that Splinter was telling the truth about his death.

Sadly, heavily, Splinter took himself to the couch and gently turned Donatello's face back toward the ceiling before replacing the sheet over him. He closed his eyes for a moment, noticing the unbearable weight in his chest then opened his eyes again at the twitch of his ear. He hurried toward the sound of broken things and found Raphael tearing apart his room. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching gravely as his most ill-tempered son released his grief the only way he knew how. He threw weights across the room, tore apart borrowed comic books, stabbed his bed with his sai, and was about to punch a hole in the brick wall when Splinter hurried in and stopped him, taking his son into his arms.

"Be calm my son," he soothed as Raphael wailed into his father's shoulder. But the young turtle was restless, his body trembling with anger and disbelief. It only took a moment for his rage to build up again, and he tore himself out of his father's arms.

"Those goddamned Foot with their goddamned weapons and shit," he shouted, his voice thick and an octave higher than normal. He launched a sai at the wall and it stuck in between two bricks. "Why do they do it? Why do they work for that goddamned Shredder? Why do they have to keep coming after us?!" He threw his other sai and it sank into the cement hardly an inch above the first.

He walked slowly up to the wall and slammed his fists against it before resting his forehead against the bricks and sobbing unashamedly. "Why Donnie?" he cried quietly. "Why couldn't it have been me?"

Splinter's stomach turned. "My son," he said shakily, resting a paw on Raphael's shell. "We cannot ask such questions. We would all rather take the place of Donatello, but what would that do for those remaining? If it _had_ been you, your brother would be feeling this same pain, asking these same questions. We cannot alter our fate, nor when it chooses to take us away from those who love us."

"Fate?!" Raphael bellowed, throwing Splinter's arm away. "Fate didn't kill Donnie; those fucking Feet did! And I'm gonna kill every last one of them with my bare hands!"

"Raphael you mustn't be so rash," Splinter begged, clinging to his son's shell as Raphael yanked his sai out of the wall and began stomping away. "There are consequences for those who kill deliberately, but it is not for us to decide those consequences. Please my son, your brothers need you here. They need you safe…_I_ need you." He broke down on these last words. Never in a million years had he imagined himself losing his composure in front of the one son that had no idea what composure meant. But it happened, and he cried and he begged his son to remain calm and rational even through his distraught tears.

For a moment Raphael just stared at his father with wide eyes, shocked into silence upon witnessing this kind of behavior from the one who had struggled all these years to teach him to control his emotions. But after a moment it became too much. He burst into tears again and threw his arms around his father.

"I'm sorry Sensei," he wailed. "I was supposed to protect Donnie, and I didn't even know he was gone!"

Splinter held his son tightly, as though this would somehow relieve him of the pain. "None of us did, my son," he said, patting his shell. "None of us did."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Italicized **_**= Flashback/Memory...Just so you're not confused.**

* * *

"_Cervical vertebrae," Donnie repeated slowly. "It's composed of cylindrical bones that lie in front of the spinal cord and make up the first seven vertebrae of your cervical spine. They work with the muscles, joints, ligaments and tendons to provide support, structure and stabilization to the neck."_

"_And _why_ is it important that I know this again?" Mikey asked, swinging upside down from a pipe as he watched his brilliant brother tinker with the splay of gadgets riddling his work bench. Michelangelo had no idea what all of Donnie's toys and doohickeys were for, but he'd always found watching Donatello work interesting, even though he wasn't the most exciting turtle to carry out a conversation with. It was mostly because Donnie often let his younger brother test out his latest inventions once they were complete. He always said that if it could survive Mikey's enthusiasm, it was a success. _

"_Because the right amount of force striking the right vertebrae will knock out an enemy for a solid half hour at least. But too much force to the wrong vertebrae could potentially kill him."_

"_Whoa, really?" Mikey exclaimed, excited to be learning something for once._

"_Well, either that or it could paralyze him from the neck down; it all depends on the strike. C1 and C2 are the first and the smallest of the cervical vertebrae, but also two of the most important. If one of them cracked or shattered it could kill a man in an instant. He wouldn't even get to breathe his last breath."_

_A wicked grin spread across Mikey's face as the last of Donatello's words went through one ear and out the other. "So you're telling me, if I ninja whack the back of Raph's neck, he would seize up and never be able to move again?"_

_Donnie sighed and took his goggles from his eyes, sitting them on top of his head; he then proceeded to tighten a screw on his thingamajigger. "That's not a _good_ thing Mikey. Even attempting such a move is dangerous. Theoretically, I could knock out Raph with one blow, but I would never _try_ to. The possible results are much too high in risk. Besides, if you paralyzed Raph, who would watch your three o'clock in our next confrontation?"_

_Mikey scoffed and folded his arms. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, but he continued to hang there like a bat. He loved the feeling of being upside down. If he could, he'd _live_ upside down. "You're such a kill joy Don. What's the fun in taking risks if you have to sit there and calculate every possible outcome? That's the point of the_ risk_."_

_Donnie shook his head. "If you want to be responsible for bringing Raph his favorite cereal every morning be my guest. I don't think I'd even attempt to paralyze a _Foot_ ninja like that. Can you imagine never being able to move again? Having to have everything done for you?"_

"_Donnie," Mikey whined. "They're the enemy. They kind of deserve it."_

"_They're still human beings Mikey. No one deserves that."_

_Mikey rolled his eyes. "What's the word for someone who doesn't believe in violence?"_

"_A pacifist."_

"_You're such a pacifist Don."_

_Donnie shrugged. "That's not necessarily a bad thing."_

"_Don!" Mikey exclaimed, slightly mortified. "You're a ninja!"_

"_Which is exactly the thing that _doesn't_ make me a pacifist-at least not completely. I just think violence is a last resort kind of thing that's all."_

"_Psh, then you sure reach the last resort a lot."_

"_Self-defense Mikey."_

"_Pacifier," Mikey quipped._

_Donatello slapped a palm to his forehead._

* * *

Michelangelo opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his room. He was lying on his bed, tucked securely under a blanket, orange mask lying idly on the pillow next to his head, but he never remembered removing it and climbing into bed. His room was dimly lit by the blinking neon pizza sign hanging on the wall over his head. The buzz of electricity seemed abnormally loud. The lair was so quiet. He felt it shouldn't be so quiet. Something was not right.

There was a small splash of water to his left, and he looked over to see Splinter wringing out a small hand towel over a plastic bowl. His sensei's face was cast in shadows, but even still he could make out the crease of his brow and the grave numbness coating his eyes. Michelangelo's stomach dropped.

Without looking toward his son, Splinter spoke. "How are you feeling my son?" His voice was very low, very heavy, very unusually exhausted and sad.

Michelangelo didn't speak for a moment. He watched his father squeeze the remaining droplets of water from the towel and then shuffle across the room to wipe the cool, damp cloth across Mikey's forehead. Still Splinter did not look at him, and he knew that what he had feared to be the worst of nightmares was in fact a reality that he, his father, and his two remaining brothers now had to live with.

"Donatello's dead isn't he?" he said, hardly recognizing the question leaving his own lips. It seemed like such an odd combination of words, so wrong. And he never called his brother by his full name.

Splinter sat on the edge of the bed and folded his paws in his lap, clutching the wet rag. "Yes, my son," he whispered into the shadows.

Though he already knew this to be the new truth, tears burned his eyes anyway. He couldn't stop them. He felt like his heart was going to collapse on itself, stop beating, short circuit. His chest was so tight. He nodded past his tears.

"I knew it," he whimpered, staring into the darkest corner of his room. "I could tell…the moment I saw him on Leo's back. I just—I didn't want to believe it."

"Denying the truth is the easiest way to escape pain Michelangelo. I do not blame you. I wanted to deny it myself, but…to do so would have left us all blind and vulnerable. This is something we cannot afford to be. We must accept this truth."

Mikey let himself cry silently for a moment, turning his eyes back to the ceiling, mourning the loss of, what probably had been, his favorite brother. Donatello was so patient, so forgiving, so understanding, and harmonious. He never fought with Mikey or showed as much annoyance with him as Raph and Leo often did. And Mikey had never admitted it to his brother aloud, but he respected Donatello's "last resort" belief. He thought it was noble. Donatello had understood better than all of them that a living creature was a living creature, no matter what they looked like or how they acted. The most gentle spirit of them all…and _he_ was the one that had to parish?

"He saved my life Sensei," Mikey moaned. To say this out loud, realizing what it had cost his brother to do so; it nearly tore Mikey's soul apart. "If I hadn't been…He could have…" He watched his words float away, losing themselves in darkness and confusion. He couldn't finish his sentences anymore.

Splinter rested a paw on his son's shoulder. "What could you have done differently to prevent your brother's fate Michelangelo?"

Mikey shook his head, mortified, tears spilling fast down his mask-less face. "I could've taken out the damn ninja myself."

"But then _you_ would be in Donatello's position right now. Your brother realized this Michelangelo. He defended you without hesitation because he knew that to love sacrificially was greater than to live without you."

Mikey choked. "Are you saying Donnie dying was the right thing to do?!"

"My son," Splinter soothed, patting his plastron. "I am saying there is no right and wrong, only choices. And your brother chose to do what he believed in. He chose_ your_ life."

"But _why_?" Mikey asked desperately, looking to his sensei with shining eyes. "I don't deserve it."

"None of us do Michelangelo. But, would you not do the same for your brothers as Donatello did for you?"

Mikey blinked, losing yet more tears. He knew his father was right, he would do anything to keep his brothers from harm but, suffice it to say, this did not make him feel any better about his brother's death. He _would_ do anything—but he hadn't. He hadn't done a thing to keep Donatello from falling to his death. He had only allowed his brother to save him—to preserve a life Michelangelo didn't even deserve. Maybe no one did deserve their life, but if anyone was to, it would have been Donatello.

"Rest my son," Splinter said, pulling the blanket up to Mikey's chin. He stood and kissed him on the forehead. "It will be alright," he mumbled, though the falsity was hard to miss in his voice. It was clear that Splinter was only saying this to ensure some peace in his youngest son.

Mikey decided to allow his father to believe that he had said the right thing and turned over to close his eyes. But he never fell back asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

"I failed Sensei," Leonardo rasped. His body was consumed with shivers, his skin both hot and cold, and clammy all over.

His father rested a paw on his forehead, feeling for his temperature. Leo could not breathe from his nose. His eyes were puffy and burning. He was sweating excessively and his stomach had not yet stopped churning. He was lying on his bed in his room, isolated, wishing desperately to be with no one but the one brother he could not be with. Donatello was always the one that cared for him when he was sick, always the one that checked his temperature and concocted home remedies that had him up on his feet feeling healthier than ever within a day. But that would not be the case this time. Donatello could no longer attend to any one of his brothers, not their injuries, not their illnesses, not the gaping hole that left each of their hearts so empty.

"Shh," Splinter soothed, wiping the sweat from Leo's brow with a cooled cloth. "You must not blame yourself my son."

"But I'm responsible," Leo said. "I'm the leader. It was my job to make sure they all got home safely…and I failed. Now Donnie's gone and our team—our family will never be whole again. How can we possibly do this without him Sensei? It's ridiculous to think that we ever could do _anything_ without him. He wasn't the strongest or the fastest but he was the smartest, the most prepared, the most equipped to handle any and everything. He always had everything we needed…Sensei, this is impossible. We've lost the most important member of our team, of our family, and it's _my _fault!"

"My son…"

"No Sensei, it _is_! _I_ did this._ I_ was the one that led them all into battle to begin with. _I_ was the one that ordered a retreat. _I _was the one that was with him when he fell and I just _watched_ him. I didn't _do_ anything. I just stood there and I watched him fall, and I didn't even know that he was already dead by the time he hit the ground—before I could even get to him!"

"Leonardo," Splinter snapped firmly.

Leo blinked, looking to his father with wide, wet eyes.

"There is something you must understand, something you will have to repeat to yourself for as long as you live, the only thing that will subside your pain…"

Leonardo listened carefully. He would do anything—_anything_—not to feel like this, like a failure.

Splinter eyed him very sternly and said, "There is _nothing_ you could have done."

Leo's heart came to a stop. He couldn't breathe for a full five seconds. And then a dam burst inside of him and he began to sob hysterically, covering his face with his hands and turning his back to his father. That could _not _be it. That couldn't be it. There had to be something. There had to be a reason his brother was no longer beside him. There had to be. It_ was_ his fault.

"No Sensei…I _could_ have," he cried.

"Leonardo you _cannot_ bear this weight—it is not for you to bear. There is nothing you could have done. All leaders must face this reality; no matter how hopeless it leaves us feeling. We are not gods Leonardo. We cannot control time and space; we cannot decide the fate of those we love. We are meager creatures of this earth with all the unfortunate flaws of human beings. We only pretend to be stronger than we are when we feel like we're losing our control on the world. But we fool ourselves. The moment that we believe we can control everything is _then_ the moment that we fail. Do not do this to yourself my son, I beg of you."

"How could you not be angry with me?" Leo shouted, or as loudly as he could anyway. He was desperate for something to blame. Why that something had to be himself, he wasn't sure, but at this point he had convinced himself that Donatello's death was directly due to his own actions—or inaction. He had his brother's blood on his hands. "I'm the leader. You're always telling me that whatever happens to my brothers is my responsibility—"

"You know that is not what I meant—"

"You trusted me to bring them home safely and I didn't—"

"I will _not_ blame you—"

"I practically killed Donatello myself!"

"Leonardo enough!" Splinter bellowed. "I will hear no more of this."

Both astonished and nauseated, Leo sat up—almost too quickly—and opened his mouth to retaliate, but Splinter struck a palm at his chest, immediately forcing him back down, and firmly placed his paw on Leonardo's plastron to keep him down. They both glared at each other, Splinter out of pity, Leo out of frustration, but both out of hurt.

"You are not well my son," Splinter said breathlessly. "I forbid you to leave your room today."

A geyser of anger welled up in Leo's chest, but he was too flustered to respond. He again turned his back on his father, this time roughly, yanking himself away from Splinter's touch. He glowered at his wall with blurred eyes and tightened his jaw. He did not respond.

He felt his sensei hesitate, staring down at him as though tempted to apologize or say something else about how this wasn't Leonardo's fault. But a second too long passed and Splinter's silence became permanent. He left the room, closing the door behind him, and Leonardo cried himself to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**To avoid the question: "Where's this person? And that person? And the other person from that one episode?" This all takes place early on in the series. They haven't made that many friends yet :(**

**But on a totally different note: I failed to mention that, of course I don't own TMNT, but I do give mad props to Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman for starting this whole thing. Where my life would be without them, I do not know. But...back to the story.**

* * *

They said goodbye to Donatello the next day.

To set the young turtle's body to ashes on the surface would have only drawn unwanted attention to themselves. They had to do it in the lair. Leatherhead produced a lab table that he had recovered from the wreckage of his old home, while April and Casey purchased whatever else they needed. Leonardo was not sure what all that entailed, nor did he care to know. Splinter attended to the details and Leo allowed it to be so. In all honesty, the thought of setting his younger brother on fire inside of their own home was sickening—but to allow him to rot underground in a place of no significance was even worse. So he simply sat quietly on the couch with his back to the preparation for Donnie's farewell, staring at the shattered television screen, until Raphael appeared next to him and rested a surprisingly gentle hand on his shell. Leo allowed his brother to help him to his feet—as his illness had left his body weak—and he leaned against Raph as they walked slowly up to Donatello's covered body just next to the pool of water in the center of the lair. Michelangelo came silently up to Leo's right and also wrapped an arm around his shell, eyes already shinning with grief as he stared silently at the obscured figure of their brother.

Splinter handed everyone a candle, except for Leonardo who only turned his head the other way and waited for his father to move on. He wanted to get this over with. The longer he stared at Donatello's silhouette the more his stomach turned. Splinter hung his head and gave a candle to Michelangelo then stood next to Leatherhead after he had gone around to light all of the wicks. Shadows danced across each of their mourning faces. The soft orange light of each individual flame made every tear glitter. April had already burst into loud sobs and was clinging to Casey's waist. He had one bulky arm around her shoulders and one hand on Raphael's shoulder. Raph and Casey were now emotionally vulnerable-each badass façade cracked right down the middle. Leatherhead, an enormous, talking crocodile, that often lost himself in fits of white-hot rage, wept silently with one giant croc hand on little Splinter's back.

No one spoke for a very long time. It was understood initially that Splinter would say a few "last words," but it seemed he was incapable of doing so at this point. He wasn't sure why it was just occurring to him now, but Leo suddenly realized that he, Raph, and Mikey had not just lost a brother and teammate, but Splinter had lost a son—lost one of his four legacies. Their home, their family, really never _would_ be the same, never would be whole again. This did not make Leonardo feel any better.

"Would you like me to speak Splinter?" Leatherhead asked.

Splinter simply nodded, unable to verbally respond.

Leatherhead cleared his throat and took a deep breath, gazing at Donatello gravely. "We have taken a great loss," he said. "Donatello was not just a turtle, but a _person _that is irreplaceable. Every one of us owes him our lives…"

Mikey cringed. Leo curled his arm tightly around his little brother.

"He was brave, kind, compassionate, loyal, and without a doubt the greatest genius the world will have ever seen. He was also the gentlest soul I've ever known, and reminded us all of the meaning of peace and understanding. He was a friend—_my_ friend—a brother and a son, like no other. And I know he would not want us to live our lives in anger or full of vengeance toward the people responsible for his passing. No one can deny, he was resilient to the very end, and he continues to be even after. His spirit will always be with us, and as such, we will never grow weary…Peace be with you Donatello."

Another grave silence fell upon them as Leatherhead's last words diminished in the cavernous room. A knot had risen in Leonardo's throat, but he had promised himself he would not shed any tears during this farewell. When his brother had needed it the most, Leonardo had failed in strength—he would not allow that now.

"Would anyone else like to speak?" Leatherhead asked quietly.

Leo felt Raph tense beside him and then take a breath. "You kicked ass Don," he said, his voice quivering.

Casey made a gruff noise of agreement as Mikey nodded his head.

"You were smarter than all of us," Raph continued. "And I'm sorry…" His voice broke off into a whimper for a moment as he hung his head, shimmering tears falling freely to the floor. "…for not always treating you right, when you deserved the best of everything." He cleared his throat and quickly wiped his face, then replaced his arm around Leo's shell and said, "I love you Donnie."

Everyone else fervently agreed and repeated Raph's last words as Leo's heart split down the middle. He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud like the rest of them, but he loved Donatello too—far too much to say goodbye to him.

Splinter took a step forward, rested a paw on Donnie's head and said, "Sleep well my son." Then he withdrew his arm and touched the flame of his candle to the saturated sheet covering Donatello's body. The rest of them did the same, and within the next second the lair was full of bright, yellow-orange light that shimmered off the surface of the pool. Heat coated Leo's skin, and he wasn't sure if he felt comforted by it or not. No amount of light or warmth could burrow through the cold, suffocating, darkness that engulfed his spirit. Leonardo's life, as he had once known it, could not go on without Donatello. And he only had himself to blame.

* * *

The lingering scent of burning still hung in the air hours later, mostly because of the incense Splinter had lit beneath a small shrine they had set up in honor of Donatello. Casey and Raph had nailed a shelf and some hooks to the brick wall just above Donatello's collection of computers. April had managed to dig up a photograph that she had taken of Donatello months ago and put it in a frame to sit on the shelf next to the Japanese urn containing Donnie's ashes. The burning incense sat on the very edge of this display, and above it, lying across the hooks, was Donnie's broken bo staff. Leonardo still wasn't sure if the reason it was so hard to look upon this memorial was because it reminded him so greatly of Donatello's obvious absence or because it made him feel like his brother, in a way, was still present. Every time his eyes landed on the splintered end of Donnie's staff he could only see flashes of it breaking, over and over again, sending Donnie to his death—to which he closed his eyes and forced himself to turn away.

They were all in the kitchen now, huddled around the table with cups of hot tea. April, Mikey, Splinter, and Raph all sat around the table while Leatherhead sat contentedly on the floor and Casey leaned close by against the refrigerator. Leo stood far off to the side, out of reach of the kitchen light, leaning with his arms crossed against the wall. He had purposely positioned himself far enough from the group not to be expected to join in on the conversation, but close enough to still hear every word that was being said. They were talking about Donnie, about all the good things they would remember about him, occasionally laughing at old memories or nodding in silence as they reminisced on his purity.

"I'll never forget that bag of tricks he always carried around. That thing was like Mary Poppins's carpet bag," Raph said with a small grin on his face.

"Indeed. I remember when I found it. He asked to keep it and threw all of his toys inside. At the time it was much too big for him to carry. He had to drag it across the floor behind him," Splinter mused, taking a sip from his cup.

"I always thought it was hilarious whenever he got super excited about all the tech we ran into, even in the middle of a fight," Mikey said. "He was such a geek."

Raph chuckled. "Hey you remember that one time when we were kids and you found that Gameboy that was stuck in the drain, and then Donnie totally took it apart just to figure out how it worked?"

"Ugh, I was so mad at him," Mikey laughed. "I loved that thing."

"You only had it for a week."

Mikey shrugged. "Even still."

"But as I recall," Splinter said. "He did make a pretty nifty metal detector out of it."

"Yeah well…I still missed that Gameboy. _Amazing Penguin_ was the first handheld game I ever played."

"Regardless, Donatello was very resourceful," Leatherhead said causally.

"Not to mention a major grammar police," Casey said. "He used to get me all the time with that."

"Me too," Mikey exclaimed. "And he would always go the long way about explaining everything."

"Man that was annoying," Raph laughed. "I could never understand half the things that came out of his mouth."

"I actually _enjoyed_ having conversations with Don," April said.

"As did I," Leatherhead agreed.

"Yeah well, you guys are both braniacs too," Raph said. "Least you knew what he was talking about."

April chuckled meekly, staring into her cup of tea. "He was always the first one I called if I was having tech problems. Believe me, there was _a lot_ that I could've learned from him even still." She wiped a few tears from the corners of her eyes and smiled sadly. "I'm really going to miss him."

Most everyone nodded, but no one spoke. There was a long moment of near silence, as they all sipped their tea without a word, Donatello's absence still shining entirely too brightly.

"I liked how he never really got angry," Mikey finally said quietly.

"Yes." Splinter nodded. "He was extraordinarily patient."

"Well he almost had to be, didn't he," Raph said, "to stay up working on his inventions all night, when they fell apart or exploded fifty percent of the time."

"He was a terrible insomniac," April said with a nod.

"He also had to deal with _you_," Mikey teased, smirking at Raph.

"And you too shell-for-brains," Raph shot back with a grin and a raised brow.

"He had to deal with _all_ of us," Leonardo finally spoke. Though when he did, his voice was bitter. Everybody looked at him—Splinter with a sympathetic frown. "And never once did he lose his cool when we let our tempers get the better of us. We expected everything from him. And how many times did we thank him for all that he did?" When no one answered, Leo nodded coldly. "We should all be a pot of ashes."

The next pause was a precarious one. They were all gazing warily and disturbed at Leo as though he had slapped them all across the face with one strike. He met with the gaze of his sensei for a brief moment and did not like what he saw. He pushed off of the wall and turned his back on them all.

"I'm going to bed," he announced as he walked away. He did not hear them resume the conversation.


	8. Chapter 8

Michelangelo tossed and turned that night. He couldn't sleep. The hum of his pizza sign was too loud. His room was too empty. It felt haunted. As hard as he had tried to drown out the voice in the back of his mind by cranking up the volume on his headphones with his eyes squeezed shut, Leo's frigid words still echoed through his brain like the screech of nails on a chalkboard. It made him cringe.

After what seemed like years of entangling his limbs in his sheets and nearly blowing out his eardrums with an array of music, he finally turned over and looked at the bent clock on his wall. With a pang of grief, he remembered how Donnie had been the one to fix that broken clock for him, _and_ he was the one that had found and fixed up his pizza sign-as a gift. Mikey closed his eyes as his body shuddered. He breathed deeply for a moment and then proceeded to look at the time. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning. He would never get to sleep.

He kicked his sheets away from him and left his room. The lair was eerily quiet. It had been for the past couple of days. He didn't like it. Normally, when he got up in the middle of the night, he would find Donnie still awake, working on something, the sparks of his blow torch lighting up the entry to the workroom. Or he'd be on his computers, eyes flashing to and from each screen, fingers flying across the keyboard. Don had been an extraordinary typer for someone with only three fingers on each hand. Mikey stared over the rail across the lair toward Donnie's station where the pale blue light of his computers usually illuminated that side of the room. But all was dark in that corner tonight. And all was much too empty.

Mikey turned away and headed toward what was considered Donnie's bedroom—even though he had hardly ever made much use of it. Donnie's bed had seen him only on the occasions that Splinter or one of his brothers finally forced him to sleep for at least a few hours. It had always been worse when Donnie was working on something that would determine the fates of other people. He never allowed for one missed point of information in his research or one wrong number in his calculations, every possible outcome had to be considered and tested, and once Donnie got himself into a good flow it was nearly impossible to drag him out of it. Michelangelo had always taken it upon himself to make sure his brother was consistently reminded of what real fun was. Though, he had always taken for granted Donnie's patience with him in those moments. Donatello was usually in the middle of working on something important for the benefit of the team, or even sometimes on a request of one of his brothers or his sensei, whenever Michelangelo cropped up to bother him, begging him to go skateboarding with him or to be his sparring partner if Splinter thought Mikey had been slacking off too much. Donnie was a good sparring partner. He always gave his all, but he was never too rough—like Raphael usually was. And he didn't constantly try to correct every foot placement or the angles of his strike like Leo did. If Donnie ever saw a place where Mikey could improve he said so kindly—but most of the time where Donnie thought Mikey could improve was all in the mind. And now Mikey wished that he had actually put an effort into listening to his brother's ramblings. He realized only now that half of the things he knew came from Donnie, and there was so much more to be learned, but he no longer could—not from the brother that had all the patience in the world to explain life to him.

Mikey opened the door to Donatello's room and his heart stopped mid-beat when he saw a figure lying on Donnie's bed. For a brief moment he thought he was seeing Donatello actually asleep on his own mattress, but when his eyes caught a glimpse of the blue bandana tied like a scarf around Leo's neck, he felt his heart sink to an even lower place than it had already been. Catching his breath, Mikey closed the door softly behind him. Though Leo did not move or say anything, Michelangelo knew he was awake and definitely aware of his presence. You couldn't get anything past Leo.

Mikey crossed the room, and as he approached the bed, Leo shifted over to make room for him. Mikey crawled in next to his brother and they lay there on Donnie's bed in silence for a long time, shell to shell.

In the stillness of the air, Mikey could sense his brother's breathing pattern, the slowness and immensity of it. He felt sorry for Leo. They had all lost Donnie yes, but Leo had been the one to witness it. That was something Mikey knew he himself never would've been able to live with. And he knew that Leonardo was just barely hanging in there. But, as it was, there was still some life in Leo yet, and, Mikey hoped, after this point it could only get better. He couldn't imagine anything worse than the initial shock of hearing that their brother's death was fact, that he had been dead long before anyone really knew—or _wanted_ to know.

Mikey could remember a time when he and his brothers were younger, still children, and he would often have nightmares and wake up in the middle of the night afraid to close his eyes again. It was mostly due to Raph and his personal amusement of Mikey's fear, but whenever Mike did wake up from a nightmare he would always drag himself to Leonardo's room.

As he'd understood it then, Leo wasn't afraid of anything. So Michelangelo would shuffle up to his big brother's bed, clutching his favorite teddy bear to his chest and shake him awake, asking him if he could spend the night in his room. Leo, who, after multiple times of this, had figured out how to respond in his sleep, would then roll over to make room for his little brother. Then Mikey would curl up beside him and fall asleep almost instantly. Always when he awoke the next morning he would find an extra blanket covering his body where it had not been. So it was exactly the familiar motion of Leo allowing his younger brother to join him that told Mikey even though Donnie was gone, Leo was still Leo.

"You were right," Mikey whispered, blinking into the darkness of Donnie's room. "I never thanked Don for everything he did."

He felt his older brother breathe in a long breath and then let it out heavily. "None of us did."

A dense silence coated the room as the two brothers stared in opposite directions and did not speak for an outstanding amount of time. But then the words in Mikey's throat could not stand to be swallowed back anymore. He sucked in a breath and said, almost too quietly to be heard, "It's not your fault Leo."

He could sense his brother tensing and curling up at his back, and then he felt him shaking, as though fighting off tears that could not stand to be ignored. Thinking of all the times that his eldest sibling had been there to comfort him in the middle of the night, Michelangelo turned over and wrapped his arms around his brother. Leo's trembling worsened, and he let slip a small groan of pain, but he took Michelangelo's hand and clung to it tightly, allowing himself to be held. Mikey rested his forehead against the back of his brother's head and closed his eyes, waiting for Leonardo to fall asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Mikey's arm was still draped over him when he opened his eyes the next morning. He didn't move for a while. Instead he continued to lay there, taking comfort in his brother's presence, in not being alone even though his heart felt so empty. He let memories engulf his mind as he stared at Donnie's wall, only inches from his nose, memories of him and his brothers, of Mikey waking him up in the middle of the night to ask if he could sleep in his room, of Raphael sneaking bricks into Donnie's bag to make it heavier and watch him struggle as he dragged it across the lair, of Donnie patiently teaching the three of them how to read, or rigging all their battery-operated toys to hook up to a charger so that they'd never die. Leo's eyes glazed over as he watched a memory float by of him and Raph going head-to-head in an enraged argument as they predictably did so often:

"_I'm so sick of taking orders from you," Raph grunted as he punched furiously at his punching bag. "We could've taken old Shred-head out for good if you hadn't called that retreat."_

_Leo, who had been practicing his form behind Raph's back, dropped his arms in frustration. "Raph we were surrounded. The Foot would've overpowered us if we had tried to take them on. It was tactical. You know, live to fight another day?"_

_Raph growled and kicked the bag so hard that it flew off of its hook. He turned on Leo with a hot glare. "You mean live to give up another day. We're never gonna beat these scumbags if you keep wimping out!"_

"_I didn't wimp out; I saved your ass! If I hadn't _dragged_ you out of there, the Shredder would've had you peeled out of your shell and dropped on Stockman's lab table to be sliced open for research. So don't go whining to me about wimping out. I don't whine about you being stupid!"_

"_You think you're so much better than me don't you?" Raph shouted. "You think just because Splinter made you the leader and you're all yin-yang balanced and crap, you can just boss everybody around. Well I ain't your flunky, and I ain't taking that no more!"_

"_So what are you going to do Raph, go at it by yourself? This is a team. All teams have leaders. I just happen to be it for this one. That's not my fault. And as a matter of fact, yes I do."_

"_Do what?" Raph snapped._

"_I _do_ think I'm better than you."_

_A rumble of anger swelled up from Raphael's chest and squeezed through his teeth. "That's it _fearless leader_," he taunted, drawing out his sais. "You asked for it."_

_He charged at Leonardo, who tightened his grip on his katanas and met his brother's attack head on. The sharp ping of metal on metal echoed across the lair as their weapons clashed. They were blurs of green tumbling and whirling around the lair, throwing weapons and limbs in every manner of enraged, professional combatants. Leo struck out at Raph who caught the twin blades with the center points of each sai. Leo kicked Raph in the plastron and Raph flipped back. He hurled one sai toward his brother and Leonardo spun out of the way. It whizzed by his cheek and clattered to the floor yards away. Raph charged during the distraction and tackled Leo to the floor only to be launched off by Leo's feet. They both recovered quickly and ran at each other full speed, raising their weapons, each fully intending to cause as much damage to the other as possible, raging top volume battle cries. _

_But the next thing Leo knew, his feet were swept out from under him, he hit the floor hard, and a foot stepped firmly on the cross of his blades. In almost the same second, Raph received a whack to the face, his remaining sai was knocked out of his hand, and he fell back on his shell, blinking in shock at the end of Donnie's bo staff which was pointed threateningly at his nose. _

_The quarreling turtles laid there on the floor at the mercy of their younger brother, panting and a little bewildered that they hadn't seen Donnie coming. _

"_I think that's enough," Donatello said firmly. He glared over his shoulder at Leonardo. "From _both_ of you," he added. _

_Leo dropped his gaze, unable to meet the purple-shrouded stare of a brother that had just proven himself ten times more honorable than him. He glanced at Raph between Donnie's legs. Raphael at first glared back at Leo, but after sneaking a peek up at Donatello's face, he sighed with a roll of his eyes and submitted. Donnie relaxed, returning his staff to his shell and helped each of his brothers to their feet._

"_Look guys," he said. "The way I see it, you can waste time and energy beating the shell out of each other, or you can use that energy to beat the hell out of the enemy. Take your pick. But I guarantee if you continue to go at each other's throats, you're going to fail a lot more than you succeed."_

_He patted Raph's jaw and dusted off Leo's front. "And you're not the only two members of this team you know," he said coolly. He gave Leo a certain look in the eye then—one that chastised him for stooping to Raph's level of violence. "Remember that." _

_The turtle in purple walked away, nothing else to be said, and no arguing whatsoever. Leonardo and Raphael then exchanged glances and simultaneously turned away from each other, exiting the room in opposite directions without a word._

* * *

An obnoxiously loud snore shook Leo out of his reverie. He lifted his head curiously, because he knew there was only one turtle in the world that could snore with such volume. And sure enough, sitting on the floor with his back against the foot of Donnie's bed was Raphael, head lolled back against the mattress with his mouth wide open. Leo sat up, gently taking Mikey's arm and placing it on the mattress beside him. He made sure his youngest brother was securely covered by the sheets then silently climbed over him and picked up a spare blanket hanging off of a chair across the room. Leo shook it from its folds then draped it over Raphael and left the room.

He didn't bother to take the ladder down to the lower level of the chamber after retrieving his katanas from his room. He jumped it instead, landing with a quiet thud on the floor below. He took a moment to stretch the ache from his muscles. His body still felt significantly weaker than normal, and he was exhausted. His stomach was no longer in threatening knots of nausea, but there was a feeling of emptiness there that he was sure would take a while to disappear. On the whole, physically, he felt better—emotionally was a whole other story.

He walked across the lair toward Donnie's computers and stared up at his picture for a moment. It was odd to see Donnie so happy, when now the only smile they could get from him would be a copy, a print out, a framed photograph. That smile, that happiness that was so specific to Donatello, would never be real again.

Leonardo closed his eyes, breathed deeply, then pressed his palms together and bowed. "Doumo arigatou otouto."

Once he had paid homage to his brother, he straightened his back and unsheathed his katanas. He then began a day of rigorous training, in which his concentration was broken for no matter. He did not stop for water. He did not stop for food. He did not stop for a rest. And he did not stop to talk to his sensei or his brothers when they awoke. He practiced his form, sliced the air in half, perfected several katas, and defeated a legion of nonexistent enemies until his limbs shook from exhaustion and he simply could not carry on anymore.

He continued this routine every day. They were not permitted to leave the lair for several weeks, but that did not matter to him. It gave him more time to perfect himself, to make himself unbeatable, unbreakable—callous. Every morning he woke up before the others, thanked and respected his younger brother with a bow, and then trained until the day was done, until his body could give no more, until he had pushed himself to his limit. He could sense his sensei becoming anxious; he could hear his brothers talking to each other about his state of mind. He did not acknowledge it. It would pay off, in the end. He would not lose another brother; he would not lose his sensei, not on account of his flaws. He would make it up to Donatello. He would keep his family safe from now on—there was no room for failure. And yet, the longer this went on, the hollower he felt. The voices of weakness and inevitable loss only grew louder with each passing day. His hope was dying out like a weak flame. Soon there would be no light left inside him; soon he too would be a pot of ashes.


	10. Chapter 10

**So this is the last of it. Fair warning, it gets a tad bit sappy at the end but hey, it couldn't be all bad. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Raphael watched his brother, week after week, watched him grow distant and cold, watched him push himself beyond his limit every day. Leo was wearing himself down, and a grisly knot in the pit of Raph's stomach told him that his older brother found some sick kind of solace in working himself to the point of self-destruction. If he continued this, there would be nothing left of Leonardo but an empty shell, working on muscle memory, not stopping until he finally collapsed from over-exhaustion and never got up again. And yet, every day there would be a moment, when Leo would pause, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his face, and he'd stare at his reflection in the blades of his katanas, almost longingly, as though he couldn't wait long enough to drop dead from over-exertion. It made Raph cringe—it made him angry.

Splinter hardly came out of his room anymore. And with Leo lost in an endless cycle of katas, who was left to keep an eye on Mikey but Raphael? This was something he never usually took responsibility for. Donnie was always the one that kept Mikey occupied, but with him gone, the accountability for their youngest brother should have landed on Leo. But seeing as Leonardo had lost his mind, Raphael was now stuck making sure his little brother didn't follow in their "leader's" footsteps. However, Michelangelo seemed alright—thank God. He wasn't as obnoxious lately, he didn't talk so much, but every now and then he'd make a humorous remark that revealed a small grin on the corner of Raph's mouth. Granted, Mikey's wise-guy cracks lately didn't have as much effort behind them as they once had. It was almost as if Mikey simply made the comments because he felt the tension in the air desperately needed to be reduced. Whereas before, he'd almost been asking for a beat down with that mouth of his—always testing Raphael's temper. Raph would give anything to have that back now—to have a reason to slap Mikey in the back of the head. Now he just felt sorry for his younger brother. Just as he watched Leonardo lose his grip on reality, he saw the depletion of Mikey's spirit too, and it just wasn't right.

He had never realized how well-balanced they had been with Donnie around. Now that he was gone, the disorder was almost like a slap in the face. Before Donatello died, in times of crisis, all eyes had turned on Leonardo, even Raph's—though most times reluctantly. They were in a crisis, but to look to Leo now would've been suicide. He had no control anymore. He was not focused on being a leader. He was focused on exhausting himself. So who were they supposed to look to? As much as Raphael would've loved to flatter himself with the assurance that second eldest meant second in command, that would've been a lie. Everyone understood, without any words ever having to be exchanged, that Donatello was to lead the team when Leo couldn't. But as it so happened, it was now_ because_ of Donatello that Leo could not lead, and now the responsibility was on Raph.

"You think he'd drink some water if I brought it to him?" Mikey asked. He was lying on his shell, head hanging over the step leading down to the center of the chamber where Leo was practicing. Raph sat with his shell against a pillar, twirling a sai between his fingers as he and Mikey watched their brother slice through the air with a vengeance.

"Not a chance," Raph answered.

Mikey sighed. "Well, I hope he doesn't burn out before he snaps out of this. Who's gonna go with me to scout out a new TV? I've got like nine episodes of _Star Trek_ to catch up on. And I'm starting to go through a gaming withdrawal. These thumbs need regular stimulation—they'll seize up if I don't play at_ least_ the new _Grand Theft Auto_ soon." He held up his hands as though holding a controller and tapped the air with his thumbs.

Raph rolled his eyes but did not look away from the streaks of silver extending from Leo's hands. "Why don't you go find something to play on Donnie's computer?"

Mikey dropped his arms, and looked sadly over at the collection of monitors that hadn't been turned on in weeks. "Nah," Mikey sighed. There were two strained heartbeats of silence before Mikey forced himself to perk back up. "Hey, wanna go shred some pipes near that outfall we found a few months ago? I'm sure my skateboard misses me, we haven't bonded in weeks."

Raph shook his head. "You go ahead. I'm gonna stay here."

"Awww come on Raph," Mikey whined, flipping over to sit up on his knees. "We're due for some extreme boarding. And you my friend, need to be reintroduced to fun." He poked Raph's cheek with a hopeful smile.

Raph gritted his teeth and slapped his brother's hand away. He still never took his eyes from Leonardo. He heard Mikey exhale with extensive disappointment and felt only slightly bad. Mikey had always been the one of the four of them that was never satisfied being alone. Even when it came to videogames he always tried to recruit one of his brothers to play with him. Socializing was a necessity for Michelangelo—he loved being around people…Raph couldn't help but think sadly that Mikey was going to have a hard time with that now—even more so than he usually had. But he couldn't bring himself to agree to skateboarding, or videogames, or scouting out a new TV—even being the one who had destroyed the last one. All that stuff just seemed so superfluous now. None of it mattered, because he knew things would never be the same.

He sensed Mikey's eyes darting back and forth between him and Leonardo before Mikey finally plopped down with his legs hanging over the step and said, very truthfully, "It's not like Leo's going anywhere, Raph."

Raphael felt his jaw tighten of its own accord this time, and his gaze finally dropped down to his feet. He took a second to compose himself. He knew he'd feel extremely guilty later if he blew up on Michelangelo right now. They were all too fragile to take on Raph's temper—especially Mikey. He drew in a long breath and let it out coolly.

"Why don't you go order us a pizza, huh Mike? I'm starving."

At this Michelangelo's face split into the picture of pure radiance. "Okay!" He hopped down from the ledge and ran off toward the phone in the kitchen.

Raphael did not hesitate to make the most of this moment—five seconds clear of interference. He too hopped down to his feet and withdrew his second sai, gripping them tightly as he walked over to his older brother. He waited at the edge of Leonardo's invisibly drawn personal circle, watching his brother's movements until the right moment presented itself. He broke the line and stabbed his sais in the way of Leo's swinging blades, catching them in the niche. Leo blinked at Raph, as though he had completely forgotten that he was not the only ninja turtle in existence. Then his eyes narrowed and he stepped back, disconnecting his weapons from his brother's.

"I'm training solo today Raph," he said gruffly, turning away to resume practicing.

"You've been training solo for weeks Leo," Raph answered, again intentionally positioning himself to block the blow of Leo's swords.

Leonardo let out a short breath of irritation, but Raphael did not let him turn away to combat the air again. He followed his brother's every move and before Leo could protest they were locked in his training bubble together.

"How do you expect to get one over on the Shredder if you don't practice on something real?" Raph pressed, now putting a full effort into clashing weapons with his brother.

"We haven't been out of the lair in weeks Raph. It's not likely we're going to run into the Foot clan anytime soon," Leo grunted, finally allowing Raphael to join him in combat.

"So what, we're just gonna let those lowlifes run around the city while we hide-out here like wounded animals?"

Rage flamed up in Leo's eyes for half a second and when he struck out next it was with full lethal intentions. However, Raphael was prepared for it and ducked just in time to feel the wind from Leo's katana brush across the top of his head. He flipped behind his brother and kicked him in the shell. Leo stumbled forward and turned to Raph with gritted teeth. Raph bowed his head and stood at the ready, waiting for his brother to recompose himself. Leonardo closed his eyes for a quick second and let out a breath through his nose, before readjusting his grip on his swords and nodding at Raph to continue. They met each other halfway and for a moment were stuck in a silent but tense stretch of kendo—but with real weapons, clinking and clashing in silver blurs.

"Come on Leo," Raph grunted after a moment. "You can't tell me you ain't at least a little bit angry with the Foot. There's gotta be _some_ part of you that wants to get them back for what they did to Donnie."

Leo swung out, the blade just barely scraping by Raphael's plastron. "You heard Leatherhead. Donnie wouldn't want us to seek out revenge. And I think he's right. Going after the Foot is not the answer, especially not now. You could hardly call us a team anymore."

"Agreed." Raph lashed out two lightning fast punches and swung a kick over Leo's head. "So then why don't you get your shit together?"

Leo blocked Raph's oncoming stab with one blade. "Excuse me?" he growled.

Raph broke the tension between their weapons but then stabbed again before Leo could gather back his focus, this time driving both sais into the nearest pillar and pinning Leo's blades to the wall. Leo did not release his katanas. Instead he subjected himself to being cornered by his brother and forced to breathe the same air. Their glowers were only inches apart.

"You're supposed to be our leader bro," Raph said, slightly bitterly. "We're supposed to be in this together, as a team, but all you've been doing is ignoring us and wasting yourself on training…I've been watching you Leo. I've seen the way you've been looking at your katanas."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Leo snapped.

"It means I ain't stupid!" Raph could feel himself tensing with anger. "Don't you think I've thought about it too? Don't you think I'm hurting too? Don't you think Mikey feels it? You're not the only one that lost a brother Leo!"

Leonardo's expression was engulfed in red this time. He finally released his swords and shoved Raphael backward. "No shit, I'm just the only one that cares!" he shouted.

Raph ran at his brother with a growl and tackled him to the ground. He stopped his fist two inches from connecting with Leo's nose, but it shook fiercely with the temptation. "Don't you _ever_ say that again!" he screamed in Leo's face. "I loved Donnie!"

Leo thrust his palm up at Raph's chin and threw him off of him. "_You_ were a bully! You picked on him. You called him names, and stuffed rocks into his bag, and laughed at him for being weaker than us!"

"And how do you think I feel now?" Raph shot back, blocking Leo's next strike with his forearm and seizing his wrist. His eyes began to burn as tears hit the surface. "I feel like shit Leo," Raph cried. "I was _horrible_ to Donnie. And he never said anything about it. He just took it. It was so easy to pick on him. And now he went and died without giving me the chance to apologize."

Leo relaxed his attack, but Raphael did not let go of him. He just sat there on the floor while Leonardo watched him cry. He hated himself for it, for being the one to break when it was his brother he had been trying to get through to. He wiped his face furiously, but the tears did not stop coming.

"I don't want that to happen to you too Leo."

Leonardo's shoulders sank. "Raph—"

"I don't want you to die before I get to tell you I'm sorry. I gave _all_ of you a hard time. Especially you, and now Donnie's gone and I don't know when you're gonna go next."

"Raph…"

"You're freaking me out Leo! Every time I go to bed now I wonder if you're still gonna be here when I wake up. Just stop doing this to yourself. Donnie may be gone, but me and Mike are still here…and we can't do this without you."

Leo finally let all of his weight sink to the floor as he got off of his knees and sat next to Raph, facing in the opposite direction. He took his wrist from Raph's grip and placed his hand on his shoulder. There was silence between them for a long time as Raphael continually wiped his face and Leo hung his head. But then his older brother turned to face him after a while, and his eyes were full of tears too.

"I'm sorry Raph," he whispered. "Donnie was…" He glanced toward Donatello's shrine and closed his eyes in pain for a moment before looking back at Raphael. "He understood me. It was so easy to get along with him, so easy to talk to him about everything. When he—when I let him down…I let _myself_ down."

Raphael gazed at his older brother sympathetically and placed a hand on his shoulder too. "You didn't let him down Leo."

Leo nodded as fast tears fell down his cheeks. "I know; it's just—hard to convince myself of that."

"We're here bro," Raph said, shaking his shoulder encouragingly. "You don't have to carry all the weight by yourself. Alright?"

Leo nodded again and wiped his face.

"We're here," Raph mumbled again, patting his shoulder this time.

Leo finally met Raph's gaze again and after staring at each other for a moment, they both released soft, wet smiles, almost resembling relief. A tissue box appeared, hovering between their faces and they simultaneously looked up at Mikey, who smiled too.

"Bro hug?" He shrugged.

Raph and Leo chuckled weakly then helped each other to their feet and pulled their younger brother into an embrace. The three of them stood there in a huddle for a long time, arms around each other, absorbing much needed comfort.

Leo sniffed. "I'm sorry you guys."

Raph didn't respond, but placed an affectionate hand on his brother's head.

"It's okay Leo," Mikey said lightly. "Besides, what are brother's for if not slapping some sense into their siblings?"

Raph smirked and whacked the back of Mikey's head.

"Ow!" Mikey shot half a glare at Raphael then turned a smile on Leo. "You see?"

Leonardo laughed. "Thanks Mikey." He turned his eyes on Raph then as though to thank him too. Raph grinned and bowed his head respectfully. Leo patted his shell. "I promise we'll start training as a team again."

"First thing _Thursday_ morning," Raph said. They all needed a day off-a real one this time.

Leo understood and nodded once. "Right Thursday…Tomorrow we have to find a new TV." He shifted a quick glance to Mikey who threw his hands up in triumph.

"Yes! I'm coming for you GTA."

Raph shook his head with a small smile and met Leo eyes again. "Sounds like a plan."

Leo nodded and broke away from his brothers. "And once we're back in shape; we're going after the Foot."

Raph couldn't help it; a broad, proud, smile broke out on his face.

"For Donnie," Mikey said, throwing his hand out into the center of their circle.

Leo placed a hand on top of Mikey's. "For Donnie," he agreed.

Raphael joined in, and then a second later, a fury rat-like paw placed itself on the pile of green hands. The three young turtles looked over at their father, who was also smiling proudly at each of his boys.

"I am with you, my sons."

Raph couldn't help but release one last tear. Only this time, it wasn't a tear of rage or grief or of sadness. It was a tear of relief. The healing could actually begin now. Donatello was no longer in their presence, but they were still there, together, and they would learn how to cope with that, with being a family of four. It still hurt; he was more than anxious to plant his sais into a few Foot skulls—maybe wipe out the entire army—but he wouldn't lose himself in rage and retribution, because he knew his brothers wouldn't let him and neither would his sensei. And likewise, he would not let his brothers lose themselves either. They had a battle to fight, but as long as they fought it together, they would not become a pot of ashes.


End file.
